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short stories inspired by the game "Baldur's Gate II - The Shadows of
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Wychlaran
part 3

The boy knew that he had been extremely
lucky to even escape the camp with his life. The warriors had been everywhere,
not to mention Them. But they had been preoccupied with guarding against an
outside threat, never noticing the small dark shape that slowly crept past
them. Since then he had been travelling by night, hiding as best he could
in the daytime. The first time he stopped he had barely been able to sleep
at all, certain that they would come swooping down on him and drag him back,
if not kill him on the spot. But by now the fear had dulled from acute panic
to a slow simmer, more easily ignored. They hadn't found him yet after all.
Perhaps he would be lucky. The boy mentally chastised himself at that thought.
He couldn't afford to count on luck. He had to be good enough not to need
luck. Good enough to make his own luck.

Travelling had been hard. As he was forced to remain
constantly on guard against pursuers or random patrols the foraging for food
couldn't be allowed to take much time. The boy studied his ribs and thin legs
and arms with detached interest. He had lost weight, quite a lot of it. The
hunger had been bad at first, but by now it had subsided to a dull ache. That
probably wasn't a good thing, but there wasn't much he could do about it.
He had left the plains behind some days ago and entered the mountains. Hiding
was easier here, but the food even more scarce than before. He was feeling
dizzy now, dizzy and weak. If he didn't reach the other side soon he knew
he probably would die. He was used to walking long distances, but nothing
like this. Squinting his eyes into narrow slits against the glaring sun he
kept putting one foot forward, then the next. It worked, for a while. But
that afternoon found him slumping to the ground in the shade of a large rock,
too exhausted to get to his feet again. The hunger he could barely feel by
now, but the thirst…His throat was on fire, his lips cracked and dry. There
had been no water to be found that entire day and almost none the two days
before that. So now he would probably die, and he would never be able to pay
Them back for what They had done. The boy almost thought he was about to shed
a tear at that thought, but his eyes remained dry.

The notion came to him that he hadn't cried since before
the day They came. Perhaps he couldn't anymore. The person he had used to
be was dead, after all. Just as dead as the woman he had killed. Did that
make him an undead then? The idea was strangely amusing. Undead didn't need
food or water. There was a half-crazed look to the boy's sunken eyes as he
stared at the dead woman's dagger and wondered whether drinking his own blood
could help ease his burning thirst.

And then the dark shape bent over him. To the boy's
delirious mind it was Death itself come for him. But then his vision cleared
and he saw that it was only a man after all. A man with a shaven head, his
eyes sharp and alert, his face decorated with a serpentine pattern of black
tattoos. The man spoke to him, shook him, asked for his name and what he was
doing here.

The boy forced his bleeding lips into the semblance
of a smile. Suddenly the man's insistence that he answer all these questions
seemed very funny. He spoke his name. It didn't matter now. What was he doing?
Dying. What did it look like? Where was he from? North. Why had he left? Because
they hurt him. Because he wouldn't give up his life for them. Because he had
killed someone to keep his freedom. The man looked very interested at that.
Would the boy like some help? A safe haven away from harm. An education. A
chance for revenge. All he needed to do in return was to tell the man all
he knew about his homeland. About Them in particular. That, and give the man
his loyalty. The boy thought about this a moment. Then he nodded. After what
had happened he wasn't sure his loyalty could be freely given to anybody anymore.
But at the right price, he was fully prepared to sell it.

Edwin was shaken forcibly awake the next morning, the
excited Poppy waving a letter in his face. "Good news!", she exclaimed.
"Dekkie seems to be on to something. He wants me to go meet him. Take
a look."

Edwin squinted at the letter, rubbing his eyes. It had
been hastily jotted down on the back of an old menu.

Poppy, it read.
Meet me at the intersection of Boot
Street and Cobbler Lane at your earliest convenience. And Poppy? That does mean 'at
once'. D.

"See?" Poppy said. "We'll go see him
right now. Go on, hurry and get dressed." Edwin yawned and hastily pulled
his rags on. Poppy assisted him by smearing his face liberally with grime
and dust, making him look like a true urchin. The halfling then took him by
the hand and led the way into the streets of the Outer City.

The meeting-place turned out to be an intersection between
two fairly narrow but heavily trafficked streets. There were several small
shops around, and people steadily passed in and out of them. The people here
weren't quite as ragged and desperate looking as they had been in many of
the other parts of the Outer City that Edwin had seen so far. Still, among
the more respectable shopkeepers, matrons and day-workers were more than one
member of the morally flexible classes. A gambler was standing on a street-corner
trying to entice passersby into playing a game involving a glass bead, three
empty cups and amounts of money that the victims really couldn't spare. A
group of large and thuggish men passed close, jostling anybody who got in
their way, now and then punching or kicking when people didn't move aside
quite fast enough. A skinny man carrying a heavy sack of flour was pushed
aside and fell, giving them a hateful glare but saying nothing. On the other
side of the street a few urchins were shouting taunts at a bent old woman
selling apples, imitating her hobbling walk as she tottered by. And inside
a dark alleyway Edwin could just about make out a dark shape, like that of
someone trying to stay out of sight. Edwin nudged Poppy and the halfling carefully
turned her head.

"I see", she said in a quiet voice. "Let's
go." Walking at a slow but deliberate pace they entered the alley. It
was dark and damp, and seemingly empty. But a soft rustle up ahead hinted
that they might not, in fact, be quite alone. Edwin shivered, not entirely
because of the cold.

"Apples?" a quavering old voice said right
behind them. "Buy some nice apples? Half the price for the lady Raven?"
Poppy whirled around, instantly whipping out a throwing dagger and pointing
it at the stooped old woman.

"What are you doing following us?” the halfling
assassin demanded. "And what do you know of Ravens? Speak up or be sorry."

"What do I know of Ravens?" the old crone
cackled, baring a gap-toothed grin. Wild strands of dirty white hair stuck
out in all directions from under her bonnet and she was wrapped in so many
shawls that she looked like a walking laundry basket. Some of them smelled
like wet dog, others like a dirty carpet after said dog has used it as a toilet.
The basket she clutched to her flat breast as possessively as if it had contained
a cache of diamonds did indeed contain apples. Dirty brown apples, as wrinkled
as the ancient hag's skin, what little could be seen of it. "Only what
I get told, little one. Friend of yours told me, yes he did. Told me to find
you. You want to see him, maybe? Or maybe buy some nice apples? They help
you sleep better at night, oh yes they do."

"Maybe", Poppy said cautiously. "That
would depend. What did this friend look like?"

"Why, like a Raven of course", the hag said,
chuckling to herself. "A black raven. Said he'd sent you a letter. Asked
me to go bring you. You coming or what?"

"Fine", Poppy said. "But you go ahead,
or no deal."

The old woman nodded silently at that and then set off
along the alley. It got progressively darker as they walked along, and after
a minute or so Edwin could still hear her shuffling footsteps, but he was
no longer able to see her. Then the footsteps stopped and there was a dim
light up ahead. It was coming from the other side of the alley, and now Edwin
could see the old woman silhouetted against the alleymouth. Funny. She hadn't
looked that tall before. Then she turned around and took off her bonnet.

"Have you two any idea of the calamity you almost
caused?" Dekaras asked before removing the white wig that almost entirely
obscured his face. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised at the sight of
my student gallivanting around the Outer City without permission. Why on earth
I should expect him to keep out of mortal danger and occupy himself with his
studies is quite beyond me. But you, Poppy. I expected better of you
than to let this child persuade you to accompany him on his little expedition."

"Uh, hi Dekkie", the halfling said with an
embarrassed grin. "Good to see you. Er, nice teeth."

The tall assassin gave his friend and colleague a withering
glare before responding. "Black paint", he said. "And I've
told you before not to call me that." He paused and rubbed his back.
"An efficient disguise, but hardly a comfortable one", he said.
"I hope I haven't developed a permanent crick in my back from bending
over that long. Now kindly explain your idiotic actions, boy. Briefly, mind
you. We haven't much time to spare."

The air was chill up here among the rooftops. He
noticed the fact, filed it away for further reference and then forgot about
it. It wasn't cold enough for his fingers to stiffen up. That was the important
thing. As he waited he thought about the mission ahead. It wasn't his first
one, and his training had prepared him well. Objectively speaking there was
no need for concern. On the other hand, it was the first time he encountered
one of Them since he had left. And it would be more than one. The young man
smiled to himself at the thought. It wasn't a pleasant smile, more like a
baring of teeth. With luck he would be able to handle two. But he had been
careful in his planning. He didn't intend to depend on luck.

Then they were suddenly there, stepping out of the house.
Two of them, as he had suspected. Secure in their arrogant knowledge that
no one would be able to recognize them for what they were. No one but the
unseen watcher above who recognized them all too well, particularly the older
one. He would never forget the exalted luck on her face as she led the circle
of women that drained him of his inborn gift, took it into herself to be used
for her own purposes. That face was the last thing that drifted across his
closed eyelids every time he went to sleep, lodged inside his mind like an
invited guest. He had memorized every detail of it.

Despite the fact that years had passed since last he
saw her a tiny sliver of icy fear shot through him, making his jaw clench.
Then it was ruthlessly squashed as he made himself concentrate on the hatred
instead, the constantly burning embers of it deliberately fanned into flames.
Not hot though. A cold fire of hatred, a focal point to hold on to. He almost
wondered that the old woman didn't feel it lash her skin and sear her bones.

He would have preferred to take her out first, but the
younger woman was in the way, as were the two warriors. Soon they would pass
around the corner and it would be too late. The young man made his decision,
gently squeezing the trigger of the crossbow. A gurgling scream from the younger
woman was cut off as a second bolt hit her square in the throat. Not much
time left.

The two burly warriors were working themselves into
a frenzy by now, wanting to sink their swords into the unseen enemy's body
but unable to spot him. They were unimportant. The remaining woman was not.
Swiveling the crossbow around to take aim again he saw her turn around, saw
her look him straight in the eye, even from this distance. Saw the recognition
in her eyes. She raised her hands raised and started an incantation. Spitting
out a brief curse the young man threw himself aside, across the narrow rooftop
and over to the other side. Seconds later the huge fireball struck the chimney
he had been hiding behind, making it burst into a million pieces. The heat-wave
almost made him lose his grip and fall and he felt rather than heard a second
fireball approaching. Acting more on instinct than out of any rational thought
he leapt, just barely managing to catch hold of the drainpipe of the next
building as the spell took out the entire roof in an inferno of flames. And
then he was on the ground, hardly remembering having climbed down, and running
as fast as his legs could carry him for cover. As he reached the cover of
shadows between the buildings he decided that while the mission hadn't been
a complete success, at least it hadn't been a failure. One of the witches
was dead, and hopefully the other would think twice about crossing the border
in the near future. For now, it would have to do. For now.

"I see", Dekaras said once Edwin had finished
his explanation. "While I appreciate your willingness to help you really
shouldn't have come here. We are in great danger, and you being here makes
it worse."

"What's your worry?" Poppy asked, her round
face tense.

"Divination spells", Dekaras said tersely
and without further explanation. "I would have preferred to take the
boy home, but I cannot afford further delay. They are close enough to finding
us as it is. I must act first. Poppy, you stay here and keep our young
friend out of trouble if at all possible. I'm going inside." He nodded
briefly in the direction of the dark building next to him and started peeling
off his disguise, letting shawls and skirt drop inside the apple basket until
only his more customary black garments remained. He then extricated a thin
rope with a grappling hook from the basket, threw it onto the roof and started
climbing up the rope until he reached a closed window. Some brief maneuvering
later the window swung silently outwards and the assassin disappeared inside.

"I wonder what that was all about", Poppy
mused.

Edwin didn't answer. He kept staring up towards the
window, hoping to see his teacher emerge. But nothing happened, and all was
silent. Then he heard a faint rustle of robes behind him and started to turn
around. Before he had the time to complete the motion the stunning spell hit
him and all was black and silent.

When Edwin next came to he was being carried. He struggled
weakly against the unfamiliar arms, but to no avail. He barely had the strength
to move. The person carrying him was very large, and wearing a woolen vest
that smelled like it was fresh off the sheep. He thought he could glimpse
Poppy out of the corner of his eye, still unconscious and being carried as
he was. Then they were inside the house and he heard a woman's voice from
somewhere behind him.

"You may as well come out", it said. It was
the voice of the woman in the park, the woman from his dreams. "If you
do, you have my word that they will remain unharmed."

The brief silence that followed sounded almost contemptuous.
"The word of a wychlaran isn't worth more than your stinking breath,
Othlor", Dekaras' voice spoke from somewhere inside the shadows.
"But it appears you leave me no choice but to comply." Edwin wanted
to shake his head in negation, but it wouldn't obey his brain's commands and
he saw his tutor walk out of the shadows staring at the woman behind Edwin
with an expression of cold hatred such as the boy had never seen on his face
before.

"Take him", the woman said triumphantly. Edwin
tried to scream but a large hand covered his mouth and the darkness swirled
up around him once more.

The second time Edwin awoke he was lying outstretched
on a low bench, the wooden surface cool and hard beneath him. As he carefully
peeked from under half-closed lids he could make out Poppy's small form next
to him. The halfling didn't stir from her enspelled slumber. A very large
man with a sword almost as large as he was stood next to the bench. It was
probably the one who had carried him before, Edwin thought. At least the smell
was the same. And then he heard voices from the other side of the room, opened
his eyes more fully and bit back a frightened gasp.

His teacher was sitting on a chair against the other
wall, his hands manacled behind him with heavy chains and his legs similarly
tied together. This didn't seem to satisfy the younger of the two women facing
him however, as she kept watching him nervously, looking like she had somehow
found herself on the back of a tiger and wasn't sure if she would be able
to get off alive. Edwin recognized her. She was the younger of the two women
from the park, dark of skin and hair, and wearing a dark blue dress. Her hair
was pleated into a multitude of tiny braids. The other woman he recognized
as well. She was the older one, the one he had heard referred to as Othlor.
Her white hair was tightly gathered together in a bun and there was a very
pleased expression on her angular face.

"Your plan failed, vremyonni", she
said. "We might not have been able to find you alone. You are apt at
hiding your tracks. But the boy, now. That was different." She held out
a small object and Edwin was surprised to see the lollipop he had dropped
in the park when the two women had first appeared. Dekaras said nothing, but
Edwin could tell that he too knew it for what it was. "Yes", the
old woman said. "I suspected you were around, vremyonni. There
were rumors. And my magic tells me much. When I found this I knew what child
had chanced to lose it. Finding him was easy. But then you had already left.
It took a few nightmares sent by me to persuade him to come look for you,
but not as many as I had thought. The little beast seems to be fond of you,
vremyonni. I wonder why."

"I thank you not to call me that", Dekaras
said, his voice icy. "As you are well aware, I refused that as soon as
I knew what it meant."

"What do you mean?" the younger woman asked.
"A vremyonni is highly honored at home, honored above all others."

"Oh, yes", the assassin sneered. "Honored
like a calf fattened for the slaughter. At least the animal gets a swift death.
You sicken me. You wychlaran, the proud Witches of Rasheman. The benevolent
rulers, beloved by all. But what of the male magic users, witch? What of them?
Allow me to tell you the sordid truth. They are taken from their parents at
the same age that the witches enter higher training. Then they are brought
deep into the mountains, where they become virtual slaves. The vremyonni
then spend the rest of their artificially lengthened lives holed up in little
caves in the mountain, manufacturing magical items for the witches to use.
And they never, ever get to leave. Now call me insane, but somehow that doesn't
quite sound like an acceptable future career to me." The warrior standing
next to the prisoner moved as if to strike him, but the old woman held up
her hand.

"Let him speak", she said. "It makes
no difference."

"Unless they refuse of course", the assassin
said, his voice dripping venom. "Which I did. What is your name, witch?"

"Endarra", the dark woman said, not taking
her eyes off him. Little beads of sweat were forming at her forehead.

"Well, Endarra, the ones who refuse suffer
a different fate. As I found out, much to my chagrin. A circle of witches
came for me, and when I refused they used their magic to try to make me regret
my decision. I was born with the magic, witch. The same as you were. But your
Othlor there, your Elder, she and her friends stole it from me."

"A necessary evil", the old woman said, her
voice impassive. "We cannot have rogue magic users around. We will not
tolerate that. They must be neutralized. The ritual is an ancient custom."

"So, little witch", the assassin said, "would
you like to know what it felt like? I imagine it is a bit similar to having
your heart ripped out of your body while you are still alive to appreciate
the sensation, a fate that I would be only too happy to inflict on your beloved
Othlor. Many vremyonni do not survive the ritual. I learnt that
after coming here."

"Yes", the old woman said. "Let us speak
of your coming here. Your crimes against your country do not stop at refusing
to lend yourself to her aid. You killed a wychlaran on the night of
your defection. You have killed many since. Among the apprentices they call
you 'the Wraith'. The silent death in the night. How many dead, vremyonni?
How many dead for your pride? And you have even allied yourself with our country's
ancient enemy, helping to betray us all."

"My country?" Dekaras said. The play of shadows
across his sharp features made them resemble a devil mask. "Rasheman
betrayed me first, when she demanded I become her slave rather than her servant.
Now I serve where I choose. The Red Wizard who saved my life when I was dying
in the mountains gave me the means to do that in return for your precious
secrets and my services. He was a worthy Master, and while his son is weaker
the third generation looks very promising. As you can see, I have made an
alternative career for myself instead of the one you kept me from. In answer
to your question, none have died for my pride, but many have died because
of your greed. And the one kind of death I take great pleasure in is when
I get the chance to eliminate a witch foolish enough to enter Thay."

"Endarra, leave us", the Othlor ordered.
"You are not yet trained enough to deal with the evils of this one. You
too, Berk. Andres." The younger witch reluctantly left the room, as did
the two warriors. "Our coming across you was accidental", she said
as she coolly regarded her prisoner. "We come seeking the Children. The
Spawn of Bhaal. Being a servant of Murder you must know about that."

"I serve no god", the assassin said contemptuously.
"Least of all a dead one. I have heard whisperings of the Children, but
their whereabouts are unknown to me and I have made no efforts to learn more."

"Oh, but I think you have", the old woman
said, leaning forward. "I know of your skills, you see. You could have
a higher position than you do. Yet you stay in the service of a wizard who
seems to be more than half idiot and the rest of him a fool. Why, if you do
not hope to reap some great benefit? I think one of the Children is very close
by. Very close by indeed."

Her sharp eyes flickered towards Edwin and the boy did
his best to look comatose. He thought he could probably move his limbs now,
but he was too afraid to try. Then he heard his teacher chuckle mirthlessly
to himself. "The boy?" Dekaras asked, sounding incredulous. "A
Child of Bhaal? Oh, you witches never cease to amaze me with your stupidity.
I am intimately familiar with his parentage and I can assure you that no god
was involved. And if I remain in what some might call a humble position it
is because I am perfectly comfortable where I am and because my loyalties,
when freely given, are very strong. Make of that what you will."

"I do", the Othlor said, her eyes narrowing
dangerously. "I do not trust you. But I am a diviner, and I have ways
of finding the truth out. It was always my intention to bring you home alive,
if at all possible. Not with your mind intact, of course. We do not need that.
But rogue vremyonni may still serve with their bodies that their bloodline
need not be lost. You would have been a powerful one, I think. A pity it couldn't
be, but any children of yours will likely be equally strong in the Art. We
will find out when the time comes. Right now your mind can be put to use a
final time. You know the truth. I will have it. You can resist, but not forever.
And the boy could wake up to see it. You wouldn't want that, I think. Or you
can cooperate, and it will all be over before you know it."

Edwin wanted to scream, but the terror of the situation
was too much and not even a whimper passed his lips. He didn't want to look,
but not seeing, not knowing was even worse. Poppy still hadn't moved.

"I will cooperate", Dekaras said, his voice
outwardly calm. "But you will find nothing to your liking if you enter
my mind."

"I am sure of it", the woman said. "But
I will risk that. Good bye, vremyonni." The words she muttered
were unfamiliar to Edwin, but he recognized the language of magic when he
heard it. A soft white nimbus enveloped the witch and then spread out to encompass
the assassin. A minute passed, and another. Nothing seemed to be happening.
And then the Othlor staggered back with a horrible scream, tearing
at her face with long fingernails, clawing at her eyes. The blood was streaming
down her cheeks by now and still she kept screaming, no longer as loudly as
before but rather a high-pitched keening that was even more terrible. Finally
ceasing her clawing at her now empty eye-sockets she pressed her hands to
her chest, her face as white as a sheet, and crumpled to the floor, dead.

A few seconds passed. "Fascinating", Dekaras
said and opened his eyes. He too was a little paler than usual as he saw the
corpse on the floor. "I hardly dared hope that would happen."
He then turned his head towards Edwin. "It was very good of you to manage
to keep still, boy", he said, his voice warmer than before. "Unfortunately
I need you to be brave a little while longer. In the right pocket of her robes
is the key to these chains. I need you to get it and unlock them for me."
Edwin nodded hesitantly and stumbled to his feet, not daring to trust his
voice. Before he could get very far the door burst open and Endarra rushed
inside, closely followed by the two guards.

"Othlor!", the witch screamed. "No!
NO!" She spread her fingers wide, drew her head up and started an incantation.
Edwin didn't wait to find out what it would be. There was no time to think,
only to react. The spell was out of his mind and out of his hands almost before
he knew what he had done and a bright red ball of energy struck the witch
in the face, burning and searing. The witch screamed and faltered, losing
her concentration. Her spell fizzled and died as she stumbled blindly forward,
directly into the path of the bound assassin. Tied to the chair as he was,
and with his ankles and wrists bound Dekaras still was able to pull his legs
up and kick the woman aside. She fell into the arms of the two warriors, temporarily
blocking their progress. Nevertheless, that probably would have been the end
of the battle if it hadn't been for Poppy. The halfling had come to unnoticed
by all and swiftly darted across the room, grabbed the key from the dead woman's
pocket and unlocked the chains that bound her friend. Edwin took the opportunity
to hide under the bench as the two assassins faced the two warriors. He had
a feeling things were about to get rowdy.

Both of the berserkers made the fatal mistake of ignoring
Poppy in favor of her taller friend. As they both rushed Dekaras the halfling
silently charged, her head lowered. A small, but very hard halfling skull
hitting you in a sensitive area is enough to make a grown man drop whimpering
to the floor, where Poppy promptly bit him in the leg and snatched a dagger
from his belt, after which she proceeded to jerk his head up by the hair and
cut his throat.

Dekaras meanwhile had sidestepped the second attacker,
whose violent charge carried him straight across the room and into the wall,
head first. He didn't have a chance to stop. That by itself wasn't enough
to break his neck, but the blow he received immediately afterwards was.

The surviving witch vainly tried to get into a sitting
position. Her face was a burnt ruin, charred and broken. "Please…” she
said. "Please…"

"Poppy", Dekaras said, his face impassive.
"Get the boy out of here. I won't be long."

As Edwin was forcibly pulled outside by a halfling whose
face held no trace of dimples he heard the voice of his tutor behind him.
"I am sorry", Dekaras said. "You fought bravely but you leave
me no choice. I cannot afford to let you report back to Rasheman. I will have
no other wychlaran come after me here. If it is any comfort I will
make it a much swifter end than the spell you were about to try on me would
have been."

"Please", the woman said. "My…my little
Dynaheir. There is a child back home who needs me."

"Then", the assassin said in an almost inaudible
whisper, "we do have something in common after all. Who would have thought
that, wychlaran?" As promised, the witch died quickly.

They went back to the Ravens Nest at first. Even the
adults thought a short rest seemed in order before returning to the Inner
City. As for Edwin, he was extremely tired out and took great pleasure in
his tutor carrying him. Despite or perhaps because of everything he fell asleep
on the way and only awoke when he was placed on Poppy's bed. Dekaras sat down
on the floor next to it, muttering something about halflings living in holes
as cramped as their skulls and too small to stand up straight in.

"Just the right size for normal-sized people, Dekkie",
Poppy said with the ghost of her normal happy smile on her lips. She busied
herself with putting on another kettle of tea. "Just the right size.
So are you going to tell me what happened in there or what? One minute I'm
unconscious and having a really nice dream about horses and butterflies and
the next there's this screaming witch falling down dead without anyone even
touching her. Now, I know you're good at what you do, but killing people simply
by looking at them seems way too creepy."

"That wasn't exactly what happened", Dekaras
said, his attention fixed on some point far off in the distance, ignoring
even the irreverent nickname. "I don't know how much either of you heard
or for that matter understood, and not all of it is relevant. It was all long
ago. But to sum things up, I had good reason to hate that witch, more than
I hate any other Rashemani witch. She tried to use me for her own purposes.
She robbed me of what was mine. Since I was only a few years older than our
young friend here I have spent the last few minutes every time I'm going to
sleep trying to think up a new, more inventive and more painful way of killing
her than the last one. That is quite a lot of nasty ways of dying and I have
a vivid imagination. The Othlor was a powerful diviner and thought
nothing about trying to use her magic to probe my mind. But in her eagerness
she ignored the fact that for every action there is a reaction."

He shrugged. "In opening oneself up to another
person's thoughts one cannot help but make oneself a little open to them as
well. Had I been a wizard she would have put up safeguards. As it was she
thought she could safely ignore that, and that was her mistake. When she entered
my mind my every reason for hating her and every way I ever thought of killing
her came back to me and she felt them all. And since I was, after all, once
trained to use my mind to shape reality she literally felt them all,
one after the other. The pain must have been excruciating. It wasn't a spell
exactly, but the effect of it was enough to give her a nasty shock too great
for her heart to handle. A very interesting thing and very fortunate. I had
no way of knowing it would work, and even if I do hate depending on luck I
suppose I shouldn't complain." He turned to see if Edwin was awake. "Good
reflexes back there, boy", he said a little sadly. "The Magic Missile
can be a very useful spell."

"I - I killed her, didn't I?” Edwin said, his voice
shaking.

"No. She was alive when you left. You must remember
that."

"But…but I hurt her all the same. I mean, I know
I had to. She was bad. Those witches all are for what they did to you, and
when I grow up I want to get them back. But I hurt her really badly and the
way she looked…" He choked back a sob and when he felt his teacher put
his arms around him he couldn't hold back the ones that followed.

"I know", the assassin said. "Believe
me, I know. It will get better. I promise."

The boy cried himself out before settling down on the
bed. As he closed his eyes he felt the blanket tucked around him. "Stay
with me before I sleep?" he asked in a small voice.

"Of course", the answer was. "Of course
I will. You've proven very adept at getting yourself into trouble. I should
think we both deserve the comfort of knowing exactly what you are doing for
once. Now go to sleep."

It was a few hours later that they returned to the Odesseiron
Mansion after an uneventful walk through the city. Edwin held his teacher's
hand a little tighter as they passed through the gate, nervous about his Mother's
imminent reaction. Poppy had wisely remained behind, saying something about
wizards not being all that subtle when they got angry and preferring to be
a halfling rather than a toad. As they passed through the garden Edwin felt
some surprise at how ordinary it seemed, just as if nothing had ever happened.
On one of the lawns his Mother was sitting in a chair, reading. Now and then
she looked up and gave the statue in front of her a satisfied look.

"My baby!" she cried out as she spotted her
son approaching. Edwin was chagrined to find himself publicly kissed and fussed
over as his teacher watched with some amusement.

"But at least he's safe", Elvira admitted,
kissing her son again. "And…what of you? Is everything in order?"

"Yes", the assassin said with a satisfied
smile. "The witch is dead and the danger is past. Did anything interesting
take place in my absence? What of Master Galen's painting?"

"Oh, he gave that up", Elvira said, pointing
at the statue in front of her. "That's his new fling. It seems our son
persuaded him to take up sculpture." The statue was a very lifelike portrayal
of Galen Odesseiron, complete with a surprised look on his face. A pigeon
also seemed to appreciate it as it landed on his head and relieved itself.

"That is very good", Dekaras said,
raising an eyebrow. "I must admit to some surprise at his skill."

Elvira smiled. "Not so much his skill as
mine", she said. "You see, when I learned about him stealing
the stones of the bridge that the Tharchion's carriage was passing over I
got a little upset. I'm afraid I told him that if he wanted to practice sculpture
that badly I would be only too glad to help." She patted the statue affectionately.
"I rather like him this way", she said. "Very restful and quiet.
Still, I suppose I'll have to turn him back soon or his brother will fuss.
Tomorrow. Or the day after. The next week at the very latest."